


brutal hearts

by rime



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, PWP, lethal bitch vibes, literally just violent hookups, thank my sister for that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/pseuds/rime
Summary: He doesn’t know why they do this.It's always his apartment. Never at Leblanc. He knows what Morgana would say and Morgana can't know. Not about their meetings anddefinitelynot the choking, thank god for turtlenecks.He can hear the cat's voice inside his head sometimes, imagined, beseeching,he’s using you, Joker, can’t you see-- and more often than not he agrees with it. He just doesn't care.





	brutal hearts

He doesn’t know why they do this. 

Asakusa is the last stop on the Ginza line; getting on at Shibuya is dead easy, a transfer he practically make in his sleep. It's a half-hour journey he's intimately familiar with, one he’s made a hundred times before. Every time his reflection stares at him from every window of the empty subway car, pale and vaguely accusatory. As if to remind him what he’s doing -- and with_ whom. _

He doesn't know how it started. Can't remember. Doesn't care. Bits and pieces come to mind if he tries, little sharp glints of images that made Akira shudder and Joker smile. There’s a timeline if he concentrates -- barely, thread-like, but it’s there. 

Maybe it had been Joker and Crow who had started the whole thing. There had been sleeves, fingers brushing in the Metaverse, a sense of danger entirely separate from what lay within the Palace. There had been prowling, lying in wait for enemy Shadows for moments that stretched uncomfortably taut until -- cut all at once. The image leaps to mind with startling readiness; Akechi's eyes that day darting from behind that mask; then, suddenly, no mask at all. 

A clatter of masks and white-hot heat that thrills him to remember. 

"The next stop is Asakusa Station. Asakusa is the last stop on the Ginza line. Please gather all your belongings before leaving the train."

There is one moment he remembers clearly, though, a fragment from a night when it had just been the two of them at Leblanc, alone and vulnerable after a hard day of Metaverse theft. He remembers reaching out in a moment of weakness and touching his cheek. He'd startled Akechi then; what had followed had not been gentle. 

What had been building between them for weeks in a slow, inexorable crescendo -- it had spilled over then, Akechi had slapped his hand away, eyes burning, and Akira had read the message written in them clear as day: _ I want to hurt you. _ They had stumbled into the restroom blindly, hungrily. From that entire whirlwind evening he remembered the sounds most acutely; the TV buzzing from a distant land, a kettle faintly hissing, Akechi's wet moans as Akira sucked him off, all charm and composure lost. Spit into a gloved hand. His own halting gasps as Akechi bent him over the sink. He'd never been so turned on in his life. 

_ Let me hurt you. _

The kettle whistling, boiling over.

...  
  
"Now arriving at Asakusa." 

Akira blinks, as though waking from a dream. 

"This is the last stop on the Ginza line. Thank you for riding."

He walks out of the station at a fast clip and avoids the tourist throngs with practiced ease. It's much nicer to stroll through the winding alleys of the _ shitamachi _ neighborhoods, so evocative of a Tokyo long gone, or going, anyway. That the detour keeps Akechi waiting is a plus. 

The apartment he seeks is a handful of blocks north of the station, nestled in a winding alleyway where bikes litter the storefronts and children spin tops. It always takes him by surprise how sharply neighborhoods change here. It’s nothing like the countryside. 

Now they were a thing, sort of, somehow. A thing no explanation would justify, a sordid, secret thing that could only take shape in the dark. It wasn’t clear who had more to lose or why either would risk this. But they could stop this at any point. They just chose not to. 

Right. 

He dials the apartment code without so much as glancing at the keypad. 

The only real explanation for this, for _ them, _ was tension you could cut with a knife and a mutual willingness to abandon convention, to take whatever they wanted. A profound selfishness that attracted each to the other. Unadulterated lust and a black string of fate. It’s a warped bond but a bond nevertheless, and it’s all the explanation he needs. 

Akechi rings him in. 

* * *

  
He takes the elevator up to the ninth floor. It's an old lift with creaky joints and mirrored paneling that moves more slowly than any elevator he’s ever taken, he’s sure of it. His reflection is there again, still pale, entranced. His hair is tousled as if Akechi's already -- felt it. 

He watches himself reach for the collar of his turtleneck and touch the bruises that speckle his collarbone, one by one.

_ Soon_. 

Once they’d done it in the elevator. Or almost, anyway; they’d been on each other before the doors closed. Akechi had reached up and twisted the security camera off its hinges, shoved him to the floor, crushed the little lens under his heel with a nonchalance he found breathtaking. But the elevator had started moving _ just _ as as his mouth had found the cadence that made Akechi hum with pleasure, his jerks frantic. Stopping then had made Akechi feral by the time they’d made it to his apartment, ready to choke him until his vision blurred and he’d nearly fainted. 

(He’d do it again, too, in a heartbeat.)

It's always his apartment. Never at Leblanc. He knows what Morgana would say and Morgana can't know. Not about their meetings and _ definitely _ not about the choking, thank god for turtlenecks. He can hear the cat's voice inside his head sometimes, imagined, beseeching, _ he’s using you, Joker, can’t you see _ \-- and more often than not he agrees with it. He just doesn't care. 

When the car _ dings _ open he stumbles through the hallway as if possessed. 

* * *

"You’re late," says Akechi. 

He’s waiting on his bed with an air less patient than predatory. There are dark circles under his eyes that Akira knows better than to ask about. It isn’t _ fair_, he thinks, not for the first time, how Akechi manages to exude poise and charm where anyone else would just look _tired. _

Even like this he’s something to behold. His face is framed evenly by choppy golden hair that any stylist would envy; if his smile reached his eyes he’d be the picture of youthful innocence, and when it does, so very rarely, he _ is_. 

For now the light in those eyes, bright and uneven, subverts that image sharply and paints a rather menacing picture instead. But he somehow still looks princely_, _ and the sight makes Akira’s breath catch in his throat.

The detective pulls off a glove between his teeth and holds it there ever so briefly before spitting it to the ground like a challenge. His eyes gleam in the dark as he peels back the other glove, unhurried. 

"Anything to drink, Joker?” says Akechi. “Tea? Coffee?"

Akira stares, then drops his bag. He walks over slowly, each footstep echoing in the silent flat.

“Or do you have a different thirst?” Akechi says, innocent as can be. 

There's a moment of silence -- there always is -- and then they drag each other down, into muffled curses and moans and a crash that pierces the night. 

* * *

They never look at each other, not really. One time they do when he accidentally whispers _ Goro _ \-- he's been rolling it around in his head for weeks, mulling it over, but when it slips out Akechi goes absolutely still and stares at him like he's seen a ghost and neither of them quite manage to regain their rhythm. So. Akechi, then.

Tonight Akira looks, though, with all the attention he possesses. Akechi's hair is disheveled, and worn circles line his eyes, and he seems _ fragile _ in a way Akira’s never perceived before. It’s as if he is… fraying. 

Akechi needs this more than he does. It's a thought that's floated to mind before, unbidden, but he only really grasps it now, as Akechi’s fingers press into his back with too much force, rake their nails sharply enough to draw blood.

"That hurt," says Akira.

“I know,” breathes Akechi, who does it again. 

He's going to need a Takemedic-All for these. Maybe more than one.

"What do I taste like?" Akechi whispers, tracing the lines he's carved into Akira's back. 

_ Betrayal_, he wants to say. _ Death, maybe_. _ A reminder that I can be really stupid. _

"Justice," he opts for instead. It's a silly answer, and so unexpected Akechi throws his shoulders back and laughs genuinely, none of Crow’s mask on him now. Something about the sight is breathtaking, about the way his eyes crinkle with those weights lifted from his shoulders. He looks young like this. 

Delicate, even. 

Akira wants to kiss him -- not violently, but tenderly -- so he does, pressing his lips to Akechi’s forehead with a gentleness that makes the other boy freeze completely. 

When he speaks next every word is measured.

"This isn't like that," Akechi says, pushing his head away with a firmness that brooks no argument. "I thought you understood."

"That's up to you," Akira replies simply, head spinning. “What do I _ understand_?”

_That we’re both just scratching an itch?_ It hangs in the air heavy and unspoken. What Akechi believes and what he wants _him_ to believe, too. But he won’t believe it. _Not yet. _

“We don’t have to do this,” Akechi snaps. “Any of it.”

“_You_ don’t have to do any of this,” he replies mindlessly. 

“What is _ this, _ exactly?” Akechi inquires, with a sudden intensity he isn’t sure he likes.

_You don’t have to push me away. Or kill people._ _Or kill me._ That look in Akechi’s eyes -- he’s daring him to say it. But he can’t take that dare, as much as he wants to, not yet. 

“It’s a lot of things.” 

_ I don’t think you even _ want _ to. _

They stare at each other for a long moment. Akira is searching with everything he has, knowledge, guts, proficiency -- in this year of schooling there must be _ something _ he’s picked up that will let him crack this perfectly pleasant shell of a boy, that will make Akechi let him in. 

“_Please_, Goro,” he says, and even he’s surprised at how plaintive he sounds. Akechi’s eyes widen and darken at the same time. 

“I told you not to call me that,” he says quietly.

When they kiss Akira thinks it isn’t quite as violent as usual. No, he’s sure of it. Akechi is nipping at his neck, shoulders, down his body with a surprising tenderness, and as he does something even more surprising happens: the violence drains out of his movements completely, out and away.

_ I’ve landed a critical hit. _

“I wish,” Akechi pants, mouthing at his boxers without any trace of dignity, hitching them down, “we’d met earlier, Joker -- so many things might be different then --”

“It’s not too late,” he hears himself babbling, words spilling gracelessly, “you don’t have to -- just -- stay with me, fuck --” Akechi’s mouth takes him in, tongue lapping gently, and his train of thought evaporates completely. He can’t think or move or _ breathe. _ He’ll do anything to hold on longer, he’s never been treated with such reverence by _ Akechi _ and he can’t bear it, he could come from just the thought alone -- 

“I can’t give you what you want,” Akechi says, in a broken voice that makes Akira want to sweep him up and never let go. “We should stop this. But -- just for tonight --” 

“Only tonight?” he hears himself say, a plea buried in the question. 

“Sorry,” Akechi whispers, so quietly Akira almost doesn’t hear it, and then Akira’s gone again, waves of pleasure crashing over him. _ He’s learned a thing or two from me, _ he finds himself thinking as white-hot pleasure sears into his skull and tiny noises spill uncontrollably from his lips. He needs this. He needs _ more. _ All the while Akechi is _ whining _ and touching himself, vulnerable in a way Akira’s never seen before, and he’ll be fucked if it isn’t the hottest thing.

Suddenly all the pressure and warmth is gone, and he groans in protest, grabbing at thin air to no avail. What he sees next takes his breath away: Akechi with a small bottle. Preparing. 

He’s never fucked Akechi before -- Akechi’s never_ let _ him -- fuck, this is -- he openly moans as the other boy clambers under him and their limbs tangle. 

“I don’t deserve this,” Akechi says, voice ragged, “but I want it.” 

“God_ ,” _ says Akira, flipping him over like a cat with its prey, lifting his legs, and entering him in a single thrust. Akechi gasps and for a moment Akira’s worried he’s gone too far, spurred on by the heat of the moment _ . _ But then Akechi looks at him resolutely and mouths _ more _ and Akira knows a green light when he sees one. 

“Tell me,” he says with all of Joker’s boldness. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” Akechi whispers, in a voice each of them can barely hear. 

“I can’t hear you,” Akira says. He’ll take his sweet time with every languid thrust until he hears what he needs. “What do you want?”

“I -- I can’t,” Akechi stammers, and he’s actually _ blushing, _ a realization that makes Akira grin ear to ear. This isn’t anything like the violence and apathy he’s used to from Akechi. This is much better. It makes him want to keep going.

“I think you can,” Akira says, going completely still to see if Akechi can hold out. He can’t, he discovers immediately and to his delight, watching the other boy squirm desperately for friction. He can’t at _ all. _ “You can probably even beg_._” _ God knows you’ve made me. _

“_Please,_” Akechi chokes, looking like he’s swallowed something whole. “Akira. I -- “

“Still can’t hear you,” he says, and pulls out completely. 

This does the trick. Akechi snaps.

“Fuck me, Joker, _ please,” _ he begs, and _ oh. _ This. This is what Akira’s needed without realizing it, debauched, desperate Akechi under him, writhing and calling him _ Joker. Christ._

“More,” he growls.

And Akechi’s composure is really gone now, shot to fucking pieces. “Please, Joker, I’ll do anything, just -- I need -- fuck me, fuck me _ please, _ the bed, the wall, anywhere, please, I’ll --”

“Better,” says Joker, grinding his mouth into the detective’s with too much tongue, thrusting into him powerfully, frantically, without grace. Akechi was moaning so loudly and obscenely he was surprised the entire complex hadn’t woken up by now. And he was moaning his_ name_, too, a mix of _ Akira_s and _ Joker_s and _ please_s and _ fuck_s that went straight to his skull faster than Sikkenine. Maybe betrayal wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

“You’ve wanted this,” he hisses, and it’s not a question but an accusation. “How long.” Akechi won’t meet his eyes; is he _ embarrassed _ ? He’d thought they were beyond that, personally. “Since you joined?” No answer, and it doesn’t feel right, anyway. “_Before? _” Akechi’s whimper tells him everything he needs to know. 

“You should have _ told _ me,” he says without hesitation, “because _ I’ve _ wanted it, too, I’ve _ imagined _ this --”

\-- _and it paled_ _in comparison to what it’d actually be like_ \-- Akechi beneath him, unraveled, every last shred of composure gone, little rivulets of sweat and drool dripping down his face -- 

“Akira,” Akechi breathes, and Akira loses control.

They cry out at the same time, desperately clinging to each other, Akechi’s fingers clawing at his back as he shudders into Akira’s shoulder, and the aftershocks course through both of them so intensely he’s surprised they don’t roll off the bed. 

When his vision finally returns to him Akechi’s lying in his arms, trembling and spent, and he looks so tender and fragile like this that it’s easy to forget about the darkness in his heart. But then he sets his jaw and turns away, and Akira remembers painfully well. 

Of course Akechi won’t look at him now. Of _ course_.

He can see Akechi closing off in front of him, that familiar ice settling over his features, and he hates it. He won’t let it happen. _ Not tonight _ . He pulls him back, wraps his arms around him tightly, and knows he’s won as Akechi’s eyes go wide with alarm.

Alarm looks good on Akechi, Akira muses. Much better than hatred. 

“Let’s stay like this,” he murmurs, “just a little longer.” 

“But _ why, _” Akechi says, in a voice strangled and uncomprehending, sounding like he wants nothing more than to be left alone on his tiny cot.

Akira can’t do that.

He knows the walls will be back up the next day. They both know. Akechi will be as cheerful and guarded as ever, and Akira will be alone again, with only a fresh sleeve of bruises to show for this, for _ them. _ They know too much about each other for either to outmaneuver the other. The only thing Akira’s known that Akechi hasn’t is, well, Akechi’s plan. But he knows more than that, too, now. He knows Akechi’s torn. 

Torn enough to make mistakes.

“Why not?” he responds, gently tracing patterns down Akechi’s spine, and Akechi shudders into his touch like it’s the only thing he has. The ice is cracking. “I like this. Don’t you?” 

_Mistakes like us._

There’s a pause while Akechi says nothing at all. He turns and looks at Akira, long and searching. There’s anguish flickering there at a low simmer. 

Akira waits.

“I don’t understand you,” Akechi says quietly.

“That’s okay,” he says, and Akechi breathes sharply as Akira buries his face in his neck with a smile.

_ Mistakes like this. _ _ I'll make you make more. _

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!! i literally... found this in my garbage folder from 2017 and was apparently too shy to post it two years ago. fortunately i no longer care  
hope everyone else is still dyin with, for, etc this ship CAUSE I AM!!!
> 
> december edit: whoops i renamed this go listen [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv5aSQ-Qg7M](http://youtube.com/watch?v=Qv5aSQ-Qg7M)


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